Three Strikes
by Leonaria Dragonbane
Summary: Victor lets his mind wonder to all the possibilities their young prisoner could do for him. A challenge fic from a fan. Victor's mind, so be warned. Victor's POV, well almost...


Three Strikes

A requested story from a fan, ONE SHOT! Roctor. Victor lets his mind wonder, imagining all that their prisoner could do for him. Set mostly during the time Rogue is prisoner of the Brotherhood in X-1. Victor's POV, well almost.

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Victor lay there, arms behind his head on the metal slab that acted as his bed, his fifteen by fifteen 'lair' as the others called it dark, like his mood. The kid was awake, and had figured out that she had no way off the pedestal that Buckethead created for her prison until the op was ready. His nose picked up the exact moment she'd realized the drop was well over one hundred feet, and no way to survive if she jumped, the small ledge nearly fifty feet away from the edge of her ten by ten platform, too far to attempt an escape. Her fear was sweet.

He felt the nudge from his groin, and let out a low growl. Far from what everyone thought, he was not ruled by his instincts or his passions. Buckethead held the leash for now, but soon, he'd be on his own again, and if the little one survived the plan, well he might have other plans for her.

She had guts, he had to admit that. He had blood on his shirt where she'd woken up on the chopper and head-butted him. He grinned, remembering the look on her face when she realized she'd broken his nose. She'd paled, eyes wide, so wide, more in surprise than fear, and then the fear when he grinned, reached up, straightened the bone so it would heal straight, then wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, followed with his tongue licking any stray drops from his lips.

Mystique used another syringe on her and she'd passed out again, but not before he'd whispered "That's one."

He waited for her to scream, to beg, something other than the scent of her fear. What he didn't expect was the growing arousal. Fuck, she was thinking about the Runt, she had to be. The fact that Jimmy's scent was all over her didn't help his twitching dick. He really would love to put it to one of Jimmy's girls again. Having her whimpering and begging Jimmy to save her while Victor rutted between her legs until she stopped breathing was certainly causing him some mild discomfort with his leather pants.

He could see if Mystique would help him out, but the last time he tried that hadn't been the smartest decision of his life, and now they had the stupid Friends of Humanity causing issues because of their ill-begotten offspring. No, he'd rather cut his dick off with his claws than rut with the damned shape-shifter again. He groaned, cock twitching, as her fear scent became stronger and he heard the Bucket talking to her.

"You should eat; it won't do any good for you to weaken yourself." Magneto said, Victor grunted. He had a point, weak she wouldn't survive the machine, and Victor was definitely making plans for her surviving it, even if he had to loan her some healing. He still wasn't sure he wanted to go that far. He knew she picked up thoughts and memories when she touched, and frankly no one deserved what was inside his head, especially a frail with guts.

He ignored the conversation going on, and instead let his mind wonder.

Would her powers work on his claws, they were organic, if he touched her with one would it feel like his black soul was being drawn from his body through that one claw point, like his seed left his body in rush when rutting with a frail? If she could drain him through a claw, would it be pain or would it be deep pleasure? Could he cut her from groin to collarbone before she killed him? The idea of being buried deep in her body while gutting her as she drained him sounded strangely orgasmic and the sudden tightness of his leathers made him growl again.

This time it wasn't a twitch, it was full blown need and he knew he wouldn't be able to ignore it. He yanked on the ties of his pants, groaning as the cold air hit his sensitive skin, feeling like the brush of a frail's hair.

He wondered if he'd get off before she drained him if he fucked her mouth, sweet lips stretched tight over his impressive girth, straining, cracking at the corners as he forced himself deeper into her throat, not letting her breathe, the spasms of her suffocation causing her throat to tighten around him before he pulled back just enough to let her take that life saving breath. His clawed hand wasn't nearly as satisfactory as the image in his mind, but for now it was his only relief.

The thought of her mouth was sweet, the idea of trying to beat her mutation to spill his seed speeding his hand as he tried to calculate how long he'd have before he had to pull out – or let her kill him. He imagined pulling back, watching her eyes fill with horror as his memories and thoughts penetrated her mind as he forced himself past her lips again, the wide eyes tearing, the sweet smell of her fear, pain and horror causing his hips to buck, pushing deeper into her throat, the vibration of her smothered scream vibrating deep into his balls, pushing him closer to spilling down her throat. He decided he would give her a third breath, her hands clutched in one clawed hand, the other twisted in her chestnut hair, holding her down on her knees, and where he had convenient access to her violated and bloody mouth. He let his healing factor catch up with what her mutation had pulled from him, and then he grinned, fangs flashing as he changed his mind.

He wanted her marked, not just in her mind, but her body, he wanted the Runt to know who'd claimed what belonged to him, he wanted the world to know that he beat her, her mutation, that she wasn't strong enough to kill him. He imagined flipping her over, cutting the back of her jeans from her waist to her dripping wet pussy. She'd be dripping for him, she wouldn't have a choice, his memories would make sure she was. He imagined pushing his thick bulb between her thighs, rubbing against her juices, getting good and wet before shoving deep into her opening, feeling and smelling the rip of her innocence, of course she'd be innocent, and would bleed with his domination, unable to stop him, or feeling pleasure with the deep pain of him pushing deep against her cervix, pounding into her over and over, her screams of pain not hiding the scent of her rising climax as his fangs ripped through her coat and shirt and deep into her shoulder as he shot everything in his balls deep into her womb, her sweet innocent, bloody pussy pulsing around him as she let out a final scream of violation as she came hard around his cock. She'd die bloody and satisfied and hate him for it. He'd own her body, her mind, and her soul before it left her eyes. She'd know she belonged to him as she died under him

He let out his roar of completion, not nearly as satisfied as he'd wish, but the image in his mind certainly helped him slip into sleep.

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He picked her up from the floor of the boat and took her to the machine Toad was working on, making final adjustments. Toad took one look at his face, and started to say something, then changed his mind and walked away. Victor grinned. He didn't have a whole lot of time, but he intended to at least mark his property, one way or another.

He forced her into the small space in the flame, strapping her wrists into the shackles; a waist shackle locked tight holding her into place. He growled low, and leaned in slowly, grinning as he ran his claws over her ripening breasts under her coat, feeling the peaks of her nipples against his palm under her clothes. He ran his hand down, cupping her sex under her jeans, catching the scent of her arousal starting, unable to resist him.

"You're mine, frail." He snarled, kneading her with his hand, tempted to slice her jeans and get a taste of the sweet wetness he felt through the cotton. She whimpered and tried to pull away but her position in the machine kept her in his hands. The sweet moan that slipped from her lips as he kept up the pressure, feeling the moisture finally seep through to his palm, knowing her taste would be on his lips as he killed made him harder than he'd been in a long time.

"Sabretooth, is everything ready."

"Yes." He growled, and leaned in to whisper "That is strike two." He brushed his lips against her skin, feeling the pull of her power as he granted her the chance to survive the ordeal ahead of her. He didn't delude himself, he was doing this so that he would be the one to take her life. He licked his hand as he pulled away, leaving her frustrated, horrified and completely subdued. He licked his hand, her eyes following every movement, and then slammed the hatch to the machine. She began to scream, and he laughed.

He watched her die in the machine, and knew it wouldn't be final, she'd come back, and she'd find him, strike three was up to her.

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He looked deep into her eyes and knew it was time. She'd married the Runt years ago, and now she was here, her bare skin hovering centimeters from his face.

"Are ya sure about this, Darlin?" She asked for the tenth time.

"Fuck, just get it over with." He growled. It wasn't at all like he'd once imagined, no pleasure at all, just excruciating pain as everything he was sucked into the palm of her hand on his cheek. He felt moisture on his skin, one drop, then another as tears dripped from her eyes, his eyes faded, the last thing he saw was her beautiful eyes. Now she'd know the full truth, now she'd know all the horror.

"Strike three, I'm out." He whispered as blackness overcame him for the final time.

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"ROGUE, come on, lets go!" Logan screamed at her as they ran from the lab. She looked back at the body of a man who had once terrified her, who had tortured her, and now she knew, in his own way had loved and protected her. He was twisted and the pain he had to have experienced before they found him must have been excruciating, but he'd known, somehow, deep inside they'd come for him, she would come for him, the only end to his pain.

"Time ta start a new innin' Darlin." He whispered in her mind. She'd never lose him now, never have to settle for second best, she had them both, one alive and one deep in her mind, brothers, enemies, and in her deepest fantasies, lovers.


End file.
